


The Fist of Hydra

by TheFrostedSoldier



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Amputation, Blood and Injury, Medical Procedures, Medical Torture, Medical Trauma, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Probably canon non-compliant, Restraints, Unethical Medicine, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-06
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-19 06:47:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29870757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheFrostedSoldier/pseuds/TheFrostedSoldier
Summary: After the fall from the train, Bucky goes through the process of receiving the metal arm Hydra made for him.
Kudos: 3
Collections: Bucky Remembers





	1. Chapter 1

Bucky laid strapped to the increasingly uncomfortable operating table, the memory of the fall replaying over and over in his head.  
It was all so fast, yet so slow at the same time. One minute he felt like he would never hit the ground, and the next he was laying there somehow still alive. He hit a jagged edge of the ravine wall, and he didn't register the pain breaking off his arm at first, but he briefly saw both bones sticking out of his skin. He hit yet another edge that was sharper than the first, and it tore half of his arm off like it was nothing.  
He hit his head, then the next thing he knew he was cold.  
He laid there in the snow, alive but fading in and out of consciousness. He didn't know how long it was until someone was dragging him by his jacket through the snow, leaving a trail of crimson. He guessed it was a few days.  
He thought he was being rescued, and he realized quickly that he couldn't have been more wrong.  
They crudely stopped the bleeding from his severed limb, stripped him of his clothes and weapons, and he had been strapped down to an operating table for what he guessed was about four days judging by the few hours of quiet of what he assumed was night.  
At least they had the decency to cover his bottom half with a scratchy white sheet.  
People speaking a language he didn't fully understand worked around him, poking and prodding him while taking notes.  
The amount of tubes and wires attached to him was ridiculous, and he couldn't even tell what half of them did.  
They shoved a tube through his nasal cavity and down his throat while he was unconscious, and they periodically passed syringes full of what Bucky could only describe as gray sludge through the tube. He didn't even have to swallow whatever it was.  
"Please help me. I'm American." He said over and over again in a daze, albeit slurred and tired, but hoping that someone would understand.  
They simply ignored him.  
He was lucid enough to realize that they weren't really helping him, but concussed enough to not fully understand why.  
Considering he fell down a ravine, he was not nearly as injured as he should have been. Hell, he shouldn't have even been alive. He figured it had something to do with whatever Zola had pumped into him back in Azzano; there was no other explanation he could think of.  
He remembered Zola saying something about super soldiers, but Bucky thought it was bullshit at the time. Then Steve walked in.  
"I joined the army." He had said, but what he really meant was that he was given one hell of a steroid cocktail.  
Bucky silently wondered if anyone was looking for him... If Steve was looking for him.  
He knew that Steve would be blaming himself, and that's the last thing he wanted.  
He had to get out of there, wherever he was, he couldn't leave Steve alone. Not again.  
Despite his head spinning and everything hurting, he started struggling against the thick leather straps that held him to the operating table.  
He swung the mangled stump of his left arm around, as if that would actually do anything.  
It wasn't long before the flock of doctors noticed what he was trying to do, and one rushed over to him with a syringe.  
Bucky waited until the man was leaning down ready to shove the needle into his neck, then he whipped his head to the side as hard as he could manage.  
The man stumbled back dazed, and the syringe shattered as it hit the floor. Bucky smiled when he saw blood dripping from his nose.  
The victory was short lived however, being hopelessly outnumbered and at an obvious disadvantage.  
One doctor held his head down on the table, and another fastened a strap around his forehead so it was uncomfortably tight. The rest of the straps were tightened as well.  
Bucky cursed out loud as he continued to struggle; he refused to give up.  
"The doctor will be here soon, Mr. Barnes." One of the men spoke with a thick German accent, leaning over Bucky as he spoke.  
"Now you know English?" Bucky asked with a scoff, and he would have shook his head if he was able. "Tell the doctor I'm not interested, then I'll be on my way home."  
The man above him chuckled briefly.  
"Do you not understand?" He asked in a tone that made Bucky's skin crawl. "This is your home now."


	2. Chapter 2

It wasn't long after his chat with one of the lunatics in lab coats when Bucky heard chatter mixed with doors opening and closing.  
The doctor that he was told about must have arrived.  
He had been left alone in the operating room, and he thought maybe he could wiggle his limbs out of the restraints. He couldn't.  
The bright lights above him had given him a headache, but he refused to close his eyes for more than a few seconds. He refused to rest.  
The door to his left opened with a horrendous creak, and his heart dropped.  
"Hello again, Sergeant Barnes." Zola spoke with his thick accent like he was greeting an old friend, setting his briefcase down like it was another day at the work. "I apologize for the delay, I'm afraid I was a bit busy with Colonel Phillips."  
Bucky was lost for words in that moment, like his tongue had turned to lead. Zola must have seen the confusion in his eyes.  
"Don't worry too much, they're not going to find us here. Not like last time." He continued, slowly walking over to look at what was left of Bucky's left arm. "We wouldn't want that now, would we?"  
"They'll find me." Bucky said defiantly, even if he didn't really believe it himself.  
"I wouldn't be so sure." Zola taunted, putting on sterile rubber gloves as he spoke. "According to the army and everyone else, I'm on my way to Switzerland right now."  
He grabbed what was left of Bucky's left arm in a solid grip, pressing down on the still tender wounds.  
"And you..." He grabbed the sensitive skin at the end of the stump harshly, which made Bucky jolt. "Are dead to the world."  
Bucky silently scowled and tried to steady his breathing, not sure what else he could do.  
"Has the hardware been delivered?" Zola turned to ask the group of doctors, who were standing around watching like Bucky was some sort of freakshow.  
The man seemingly in charge nodded, holding up a long metal case. Bucky wondered what the hell they were talking about.  
"We're going to have to examine the remaining muscle and tissue from the inside." Zola walked over to the group, but kept his voice loud enough for Bucky to hear.  
Panic started to set in, but Bucky couldn't let them know that. Remembering the cruelties of Azzano, he knew that anything could happen.  
As the doctors started to prepare, Bucky steeled himself and reverted to his training to hold up under torture.  
"Sergeant James Barnes, 107th Division..." He muttered to himself, staring up at the ceiling and the bright lights above him. "32557-"  
"None of that now!" One of the doctors scolded, and a sharp pain in his neck cut him off. Something cold ran into his veins.  
Bucky thrashed against the restraints as hard as he possibly could, but to no avail. It wasn't long before his body betrayed him. Soon enough, he couldn't move. He could barely breathe. A mask was pressed against his face, and it forced air into his lungs.  
The horror set in quickly when Bucky spotted a surgical saw and the end of his amputated arm, about 3 inches up from the original break.  
He tried to speak, to say anything, but all of his words came out as slurred groans.  
"Just relax, Mr. Barnes. The procedure has already started." He heard Zola's voice, but he couldn't see him.  
The saw turned on with a whir that sent the ultimate chill down Bucky's spine.  
His head was positioned so he had to watch. They were making him watch.  
It only took a few seconds for the pain to set in.  
Bucky tried to scream, but it came out as high pitched whines instead.  
He could feel everything.  
His head spun, and he swore he was seeing stars. The pain was ongoing with no breaks in between.  
He vaguely heard fragments of sentences from the people around him.  
"Too much damage... Risk infection... Take it all off..."  
The saw suddenly hit Bucky's shoulder, tearing through the skin, muscle, and bone like it was nothing.  
He couldn't tell if he was screaming or not; his eyes started to roll back as darkness started to surround him.  
Mercifully, Bucky blacked out.  
\----  
When Bucky woke up, he startled awake. The first thing he registered was a searing pain in his left shoulder.  
As his vision started to become clear, he saw that his hands were free.  
Hands.  
One flesh, one metal.  
"No..." He slurred out, and through his blurred vision he saw people turn around to face him. He couldn't tell how many there were. Maybe two, maybe twenty.  
What did they do to him?  
In a fit of panic and rage, he dug his right hand into the fresh wound in his shoulder between metal and flesh.  
"Take it off!" He let out a slurred shout as he ripped at the skin, surely ripping something open. He didn't care.  
A doctor approached him to stop the mutilation of his shoulder, and Bucky reached out to grab the man's neck with the new prosthetic.  
He squeezed the man's throat like it was nothing.  
Zola was there immediately, jabbing something into his leg. A sedative.  
Bucky fought it the best he could, but his exhausted body gave in quickly.  
"It will be alright, Mr. Barnes." Zola spoke calmly, standing over him. "You are to be the new fist of Hydra."


End file.
